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traces of being Mar 2017
.
pale bright yellow infringes
just beneath shadowed drift
of lingering snow

as if a nascent smoldering flickers
breathlessly gasping for light
penetrating cracks on whiter opaque

wondrously drawn skywards
'neath an unseen sky so far away
revealing an obscure warmth
in blossoming will

tomorrows vanguard
unfolding beneath a blanket
that only grows deeper
over the long winter night 

a darkest silence borne
beyond frozen time layered depths

in the magic of a moment,
the clouds let the wind stir
the fickle sun's yellow paint brush

and like an burgeoning embryo,
a reclusive hope bursts forth
metamorphosis within
an all encasing hidden evolution

the wind whispers an audible sigh;
a sole daffodil peeks out
from enveloping darkness,

  casting out the memory
               a beautiful light hidden within


                         words in the wind


        ... February 28th, 2017 and counting
Sam Feb 2017
Positive words of wisdom,
spread through the cool, dry air.
Feeling the whispering wind,
brush swiftly across my hair.

Daffodils spreading sunshine,
Roses giving warmth,
Orchids beaming bright
continuing to sway back and forth.

A beautiful lotus gleaming above all,
floating in the sparkling pond.
The sun glistens in the water below,
radiating across, far and beyond.
I finally have happiness-I'm not letting people drag me down.
Sam Jan 2017
Felt the desire to hug someone,
and send your love so far,
but know deep down
*you may never get the chance to?
•A little inspiration for the Daffodil•

I know-going against my goal a litle bit
(with posting quick things)
but some little things are worth it ^-^
JR Rhine Mar 2016
Traveling (with Frost) down the lightly trodden path,
with shoed soles sauntering over thawed earth,
twisting down the narrow trail,
away from the prying eyes of tour guides—

Encompassed by flowery heads who mirror the sun,
who burst forth with fluorescent green necks
craning from the dirt,
delineating our path in cascades of springing splendor.

Sensing the ostinato of ambulant waters crescendo,
we soon break from the budding foliage—
To be greeted by gentle winds
and the lapping of placid waves

who break onto the languid shore
onto shoed and socked feet,
who sense holy ground and immediately
kick off their bindings—

To sink into the earth,
and gritty sand reaching up between toes;
the water deceptively inviting,
is greeted with delightful shrieks in its refreshing chill.

Secluded in our cove,
we gaze over the waters where to our right
rests a breathing reconstruction of the Dove;
we stand awed before these waters
both the settler and the native.

What gods were praised on these lands,
and in these woods,
and in these skies,
and in these waters?

And on March 25, 1634,
in the promising onset of spring,
what had they to sing in the calm airs
as the settlers crossed the threshold of the Potomac?

She whispers,
“Funny how the water appears green on the shore,
and clear on the river.”

--St. Mary's City, March 10, 2016.
Shannon Callow Feb 2016
People pick me for my resemblance to the sunshine;
attracted to the brightness I could bring to their lives and my precious design.
But as soon as my colours fade, my petals wither and I'm no longer warm,
I am dropped and left to slowly drown in a secret thunderstorm.
brandon nagley Sep 2015
i.

Mine admiration for her
Daily doth beam;
Hour's passeth by, with meteor shower's aloft the Sky's
I'll awaiteth a million year's for mine queen.

ii.

In mine sleep, betwixt mine dream's
No ado shalt get in between, none evil, nor fiend's;
Laughter and light, in struck night's, angel polite
Amour in flight, wherein all is right, crystal gleamed.

iii.

I'll dye the scene, a daffodil coloration
I'll be here mine sweet, I'm not leaving, I'm patient;
On other planet's, or nation's, wherever I shalt be
I promise mine lass, mine half, I'll be waiting for thee.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
Sa May 2015
Daffodils in my garden
lie damaged & still
Fragile spirits of
these delicate dancers
crushed by-
the angry assaults thru the sky.
Asa D Bruss Oct 2014
I can't rip myself asunder from such a magnanimous prepositional
as this.
While the fishes hang from my window
like little ice-ickles in spring.
So foams the frosty beverage that tells the gills to sing.
Twilight music and the sonnets contained therein
have little left to offer us, save a right-winged jerry-bin.
So the muse of ages goes round and around and around
for the malarkey of a daffodil creates folds and hills
where none exist.
...who knows?
Asa D Bruss Oct 2014
I can't rip myself asunder from such a magnanimous prepositional
as this.
While the fishes hang from my window
like little ice-ickles in spring.
So foams the frosty beverage that tells the gills to sing.
Twilight music and the sonnets contained therein
have little left to offer us, save a right-winged jerry-bin.
So the muse of ages goes round and around and around
for the malarkey of a daffodil creates folds and hills
where none exist.
Ms Tang Mar 2014
Intoxicated by your fragrance
Entranced by your radiance
Unique; you are blind to your own brilliance
Lovely, humble, shy
Skin that makes me cry
You are the one I still adore
Remember when you've cast me aside?
Did you know in your oblivion
You've left me poisoned to my core?
So I kept your bulbs locked away.
Tucked away in a jar
Time passes, but yet you still
haunt me when I look at you   from afar
Poison faded away, but the stain still remained
Leave me addicted to the scars
And every night I pray,
"Move along."
Love for you kept me in bars.
But my dear, you are not the one to blame
It is me who is ashamed.
for when a heart is a volcano, flowers can't bloom
so I send you silent shouts at the moon
To you, I'm your five months of fall, but did you know
you're my four seasons of Spring?
Revisited. Revived.
March is here, and I still wait for the day you bloom.
As my love for you, still looms.
Why daffodils, you may wonder? Daffodils can not be placed beside a mixed bouquet because of its toxic bulbs, it may **** off other flowers. This poem serves to illustrate the toxicity of an unrequited love. How un reciprocated feelings can pull you apart, poisons your perception of love, and ultimately leaves you alone with a feeling of isolation. But somehow, we can't stop hoping. Believing that the next time around we reclaim that love. It's a vicious cycle.

— The End —